"Yes, your honour," said she; "I be the wife of old Jonathan Holditch, and she be staying with us now."
"Bless you!" he exclaimed, "for the shelter which yer roof has afforded to the head o' an orphan. But, oh! what like is your Helen? Is her neck whiter than the drifted snaw? Does her hair fa' in gowden ringlets, like the clouds that curl round the brows o' the setting sun? Is her form delicate as the willow, but stately as the young pine? Is her countenance beautiful as the light o' laughing day, when it chases sickness and darkness together from the chamber o' the invalid? If she isna a' this—if her voice isna sweeter than the sough o' music on a river—dear and excellent she may be, and they may call her Helen—but, oh! she isna my Helen!—for there is none in the world like unto mine. But, no! no!—she is not mine now! O Helen, woman! did I expect this? Excuse me, ma'am, ye'll think my conduct strange; but, when my poor seared-up heart thinks o' past enjoyment, it makes me forget mysel'. Do you think your Helen is the same that I hae come to seek?"
"A sweeter and a lovelier lady," said she, "never called Christian man father. She had business at Winburn Priory; but my husband says she was driven away from the gate like a dog."
"It is her!" exclaimed he, "and she's no been at the Priory, then?"
"No, sir," returned she.
"Nor seen ony o' the Blackett family?" added he, eagerly.
"No, sir; for there be none of them in the neighbourhood," answered she.
"What's this I hear!" cried he:—"Gracious! if I may again hope!—and why for no? But how is it that she is stopping wi' you?—wherefore did she not return to the home where she has been cherished from infancy, and where she will aye be welcome. Has Helen forgot me a'thegither?"
"Alas, sir!" said she; "it was partly grief, I believe, that brought on a bad fever, and I had fears the sweet, patient creature would have died in my hands. I sat by her bedside, watching night after night; and, oh! sir, I daresay as how it was about you that she sometimes talked, and wept, and laughed, and talked again, poor thing."
"And did ye," he inquired, fumbling with, a pocket book; "did ye watch owre her? I'm your debtor for that. And ye think she spoke about me—my name's Howison, ma'am—Thomas Howison of Primrose Hall, in the county o' Dumfries. She would, maybe, call me Thomas!"